


tricks of the trade

by ficfucker



Category: Last Podcast on The Left (Podcast) RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magic, M/M, Not Beta Read
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-26
Updated: 2020-11-26
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:00:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27721085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ficfucker/pseuds/ficfucker
Summary: what do you do when your shock gore magic show gets stale?hire bigfoot, of course
Relationships: Ben Kissel/Marcus Parks
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11





	tricks of the trade

**Author's Note:**

> fuck. it's 1 am, ive been sick for two weeks, i just finished writing a book. it's dogtruth time. no one can stop me
> 
> sorry in advance for typos. this isn't all i wanted to write for this but it's been in drafts for wayyyy too long

Henry, of course, hadn't wanted to be part of a traditional show. He wanted the dark robes and sigils of baphomet and all else that creates the cryptic allure of the left hand path. Preaching and practicing what was essentially the most hedonistic religion known to man, unfortunately, didn't make him much money.

So performance it was.

Card tricks were so easy, it was boring. No shock or hard thinking required. His slight of hand was decent enough to palm surprises; glass eyeballs or chicken hearts, could produce a razor blade with the flick of his wrist. Ball and cup were rudimentary, as well. Sure, he could hide something macabre to be revealed, but the excitement only lasted so long.

He could knife throw, but never as precisely as Marcus. And his fire eating was subpar in comparison, too. A higher risk of catching flame considering how much body hair he had.

Henry left those to Marcus.

His own acts were more gore than magic. He'd learned how to make it look like he was gutting Marcus live on stage utilizing ropes of pig intestines. Pretending to cut his fingers off and spurt blood into the audience. Sawing Marcus in half and making it seem as though there were an authentic hiccup: Henry had misstepped and Marcus was being accidentally executed right before their eyes!

All things considered, life wasn't too bad. Stale at times, yes.

But Dr. Z and Dogmeat were always cooking up new bits.

* * *

"C'mon, man, eating a lit cigarette and making it reappear, still smoking, intact? That'd be fun!"

Henry groaned. "Just fire eat with your wands, Dogmeat. They look so much more—they're _professional_."

Marcus drummed his pen against his notepad. "Where's the excitement in that? Everyone already knows how the wands work… kevlar wic and all that bullshit." He sighed and started scribbling circles on the corner of his page. "With the cigarette trick, it's fire eating and slight of hand and misdirection."

"Fine, go for it. Whatever."

Marcus scrunched his brows together. "What? You're upset with the lobotomy act so you're gonna take it out on me?"

Henry huffed and crossed the room to his dresser, opened it up. He produced a small, hand-carved wooden box that he used to store his weed and flipped it open. "I just—Fuck, Marcus, don't you think we need something new? Some fuckin' yum to our yuck?"

"What do you want me to do?" Marcus asked. "You hardly ever fuckin' listen to my ideas."

Henry brought his grinder and rolling papers over to the table. He set to work at curling a joint. "I want—Marcus, I want something bigger. Something better. New shit. I want something huge."

"Huge how?"

Henry flipped his Zippo open. "It's this feeling I've got… When I figure out what it is, I'll tell you." He puffed a few times then passed the grass to Marcus, who accepted it with a nod of appreciation.

"Let me know, because if you keep shooting down ideas, I'm gonna make you disappear. Forever."

* * *

Something bigger came to them. 6 feet and 7 inches of big, to be exact.

"I can't believe we paid money for this," Henry groaned in a whisper.

"Hey, give the guy some credit, man. His lips aren't moving like, at all." Marcus whispered back.

Henry huffed, but kept his eyes trained keenly on stage. Kissel really was talented when it came to his craft; his lips drew tight and hardly even twitched while he voiced his partner. A partner who happened to be a Bigfoot puppet Ben lovingly referred to as "Big Herb". His jokes fell a little deadpan and at times, flat, but that seemed to be what Kissel was going for.

His bits were classics with a dirty spin to them: the puppet makes fun of their owner, but Kissel went the extra mile.

"I think that about does it for our show tonight," Kissel concluded. "Any departing words for the folks here, Herb?"

"Yeah, you better call animal control before you let Ben get off stage. He's got other uses for his hands than sticking them in the rear end of cryptids. And he makes me watch!"

Ben scowled. "Oh, I do not!"

"No, but you'd like it if I did… You're so lonely, you talk to puppets for Christ's sake."

Ben rolled his dark eyes, exaggerated, and tried on a guilty smile. "I don't need to take this you know. I could go out and find new friends," Ben claimed smugly.

Big Herb turned his head and looked Ben up and down. "You can't even make friends with an inanimate object. Well, beside beer bottles. You and booze are a match made in heaven."

Ben groaned and kept up the quips a minute more before bringing the act to a close. He stood and bowed, made Herb wave a hand to the audience. Marcus was still giggly, not that making him laugh was hard. Henry seemed less than swayed, though he did grumble his approval.

"So what do you think?" Marcus asked.

People around them stood and filtered out, making way to the exit.

"Let's see if the fucker is contracted."

Marcus grinned like a ghoul. Henry knew Marcus swung both ways—and not just when he was suspended upside down in a straitjacket—so his attraction to Kissel came as no great surprise.

"Easy, Dogmeat," Henry laughed. "No playing with new recruits."

"Ain't a recruit yet, is he? That's fair game."

A few minutes more and the theater was mostly cleared out. Ben was on stage still, carefully putting Big Herb away in a trunk with wheels. Henry stepped up to him with an air of confidence that was ridiculous enough, Marcus had to choke down a giggle.

"Benjamin Kissel, we'd like to offer you the deal of the fucking decade," Henry announced.

"Excuse me?"

Marcus took a wide step forward. "My partner here is trying to present a business opportunity, but he's neglected the basics." He offered a bony hand out, which Ben took firmly. "I'm Dogmeat and this is Dr. Z."

"Uh, well, hello. Dogmeat. Dr. Z."

Ben looked lost and rightfully so. Henry was dressed in a dark purple pinstripe suit with heeled leather boots that made him a few inches taller. Marcus was in a black vest and powder blue undershirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows. Dark, sensible slacks. A black cowboy hat sat on his head, concealing most of his hair as it was slicked back neatly.

Those details weren't particularly odd. A tad eccentric, yes, but not enough to draw major attention.

Their accessories, however, were far from traditional.

Henry's nails were painted raven black and on the middle finger of his left hand was a silver ring in the shape of a goat skull. In his front pocket, a handkerchief printed with inverted pentagrams was folded politely. Both of his earlobes were pierced with earrings that were meant to look like grey, metal screws. On his right wrist was a stylish watch. Baphomet sat in the center, their hands ticking to indicate minute and hour.

Marcus had a single earring. It dangled from his left lobe. A golden reproduction of a small guillotine, a mimic of what was in fashion during France's Reign of Terror. His nails were blood red to match Henry's in the theme of playing cards. The boots he wore were rattlesnake. He had opted not to wear it, but had Marcus brought his jacket along, he would've been boasting human teeth cufflinks.

"Great show tonight," Marcus said. He wasn't trying to pounce on Ben all at once like Henry was. They needed to ease into it or they'd blow the whole deal, and Marcus was itching to have Kissel on board.

"Oh, thank you!" Ben cupped a hand over his own mouth to muffle himself as he threw his voice. From his trunk, Big Herb cried, " _I did the dirty work! Kissel sat on his ass the whole time!_ "

Marcus tittered. "Wanna grab a drink or somethin'? I mean, if you don't got plans?"

Ben seemed excited, eager even. "Oh sure! Better than drinking alone, right?"

" _What am I_?" Big Herb asked. " _Chopped liver_?"

Henry cocked his head curiously to the side, face scrunching up. "You like, always do that?"

Ben laughed and went a little rosy in the face. His cheeks appled as he smiled, embarrassed, and Marcus wanted to kiss him. "Oh, no. No. I swear, I know Herb isn't like real real. He's kind of a crutch. Gets me outta my shell."

* * *

They went to a local bar and set up camp at a back table. Marcus was delighted when Ben scooted over an inch to adjust his impossibly long legs and their arms brushed together. Henry ordered a round of beer.

" So uh, you guys. Are you goths or—?"

Marcus wheezed on his laughter. Henry snorted, said, "Haven't heard of us?"

"Dogmeat and Dr. Z? No, I'd like to think I'd remember those names, good lord."

"We do magic," Marcus said.

Henry corrected him sourly by saying, "We're performers. Dogmeat sword swallows, fire eats, knife throws, all that crazy shit."

Ben raises his eyebrows, looking impressed. "And you?"

"Saw him in half. Card tricks with a macabre twist. Slight of hand. Make lamb brains appear out of thin air."

Marcus snickered into his drink. "Can make them disappear, too," he muttered and Henry kicked him under the table.

"Sounds like quite the show."

Henry smiled, proud, and waggled his eyebrows. "Bet Dogmeat could give you a demonstration."

Ben raised an eyebrow and matched Henry's smile, his bottle halfway raised to his lips. His attention fell on Marcus and he said, "Well, how about it, Mr. Dogmeat? Up to prove yourself?"

"Jesus, way to put me on the fuckin' spot, y'all." Marcus wasn't one to miss an opportunity to show off or amaze, however. Doing a little trick for Ben would be doubly exciting considering Marcus' attraction to him. "Lemme see if I got anything…" He fished around in his pockets and found a deck of matches, held them up between his thumb and middle finger.

"Matches," Ben said.

Marcus nodded. "If we were somewhere safer, I'd breathe 'em for ya but I don't think our fellow patrons would appreciate me burning the bar down."

Ben chuckled. "Fair enough." He took a sip of his drink, eyes remaining on Marcus with keen interest.

"Watch, okay, it's pretty lame," Marcus mumbled.

"What a great way to start," Henry snorted, rolling his eyes.

Marcus took out a single match and showed it to Ben, held it up for inspection to ensure Ben knew it was just an ordinary thing. He lit it off the box. The small flame wavered then grew as it started to burn down in the stick. Marcus brought the match to his lips, smiled at Ben, and slid it into his mouth effortlessly, not even flinching. When he drew it back out, it was extinguished and he blew a tiny, wobbly smoke ring.

Ben laughed and gave a light round of applause. "Not bad, not bad."

Marcus had one other trick to try out, but it took a second of prep, so while Henry boasted about their combined talent, Marcus took a swig of his beer.

"Oh Jesus, guys," he groaned.

"What?" Ben asked. "What's wrong?"

"Booze ain't sittin' too good with me…" He brought the bottle to his lips again and pretended to gulp it down. Really, it was his disguise to load his trick. He set the bottle down and clutched his stomach dramatically before wrenching with a gag. He covered his mouth then began pulling out coil streamers of plasticky paper made to resemble human guts. Bright pink and shocking purple, spooling out onto the table top. The spring of their release made it appear as though they were truly writhing around.

Ben laughed, his initial shock having melted to amusement. "Alright, alright, you guys have convinced me. You're legit."

Marcus giggled and began to wad the paper up, get it out of the way. As he did this, Henry finally lined up the shot he'd been waiting for. "Legit enough to be business partners?"

"Oh…," Ben hummed, contemplative. "I don't know about that… I've kinda always been a one man one puppet gig. Have you talked to your agents or—?"

Henry barked a laugh. He fiddled with his ring. "Buddy, you're fuckin' lookin' at 'em! Dogmeat and I are strictly DIY. Built from the ground up."

Ben raised his eyebrows. Clearly interested. "So I still maintain creative liberty?"

"Course, man. None of that monkey in a suit bullshit. We sit down, toke a doobie, and spitball off each other," Henry said. "Me and Dogmeat aren't about that legal hassle."

"Yeah," Marcus chimed in. "And if you do burn us, we'll just—" he snapped his fingers"—make you disappear."

"Well, I guess I'll have to consult Big Herb…"

"Is that a yes?" Henry asked. He could barely contain his smile.

Ben shrugged his shoulders. "Sure. What the hell. I'm in."

* * *

Ben, with his height and his voice, took the role of the barker pretty naturally. He announced for Henry and Marcus and assisted them with whatever illusion needed extra hands. His voice throwing came in handy at times, too, and of course, he was allowed to keep his comedy bits with Big Herb. With the permission to be a tad more crass, a little darker in humor, he incorporated both politics and the macabre.

Marcus had a hard time containing his laughter from the sidelines.

They all meshed so well!

Ben was starting to learn the ropes in other corners too; how to crawl around beneath the stage or slip through hidden doors. His size made it all the more impressive to those attending.

You went from watching Sasquatch get shoved into a crate to wondering how he could possibly escape such confined spaces.

Without a doubt, though, in Marcus' mind at least, the best bit they did together was knife throwing. Ben stood himself against a wooden board and Marcus flung daggers at him. It took a decent amount of training to get it down, as Ben was prone to flinch, but over time, he found his cool. He'd recite Edgar Allen Poe blindfolded while Marcus avoided slicing him open by mere inches.

At the end of the whole thing, Marcus stuck one last knife in the spot just above Ben's head, which always contained a hidden blood packet. Shocking red gushed down over him, all very Carrie-esque, and he'd peel off his mask, blink, and ask, "What did I miss?" as the audience shrieked in horror.

After shows, they'd clean up and get high or drunk or both. Their humor was in the same vein, along with taste in movies and general media. Ben would talk politics and Marcus would entertain it until Henry barged into the conversation and switched attention to sex or satan or UFOs. Arguments occurred, but they passed just as quickly as they came.

Henry was soothed. His need for bigger and better was seemingly quelled, filled by Ben and Big Herb. Marcus was happy his partners were happy.

* * *

"It's only fair," Marcus mumbled, puffing his cigarette. "You're seeing Nat, I should be allowed to see Ben."

Henry rolled his eyes and rooted around for his snapback. "Nat isn't part of the team," he argued.

"She's a contortionist, inn't'she? And she does that stuff with ropes and everything. That would be a killer addition."

Henry couldn't help but beam. He was incredibly proud of Nat and not just for her looks. They hadn't been together long, but Marcus had met her and she was as smart and witty as she was stunning.

"So you're asking for my blessing?" Henry said after a minute of silence.

Marcus nodded. "Thought it was obvious, man. I've been hot for Kissel since his first show."

Henry found his snapback and turned, looked at Marcus with steady eyes. "You know what? Chase after that bone, Dogmeat. Just be ready for an I Told You So if he breaks your heart."

With two fingers, Marcus saluted. "Aye, aye, Captain."

* * *

Henry was out with Natalie so Marcus had the place to himself. He dressed down in a Ween t-shirt and some sweatpants, not bothering with earrings or necklaces, didn't even care to touch up his chipped nail polish. If he and Ben were finally getting some time alone, Marcus didn't want it to be forced in any way at all. Their entire relationship thus far was a performance.

For once, Marcus wouldn't have to worry about whether or not a joke would land. No pressure to peacock with strange outfits.

They hung out on the couch together and watched the Texas Chainsaw Massacre. Marcus could never grow sick of it and Ben said he hadn't seen it in a while so they settled in with some popcorn and booze.

About halfway through the movie, Ben was already tipsy. Marcus reached for his cigarettes on the coffee table and as soon as one was in his mouth, Ben asked, "Is this when I get to see one of your famed tricks up close?"

Marcus giggled. "What? You mean a fire trick?"

"Yeah. I'm always being shoved into a box before I actually get to watch."

"Been waiting for a private show?" Marcus tucked his cigarette back into the pack, wanting to save it for after his little display to rid the inevitable tang of fuel from his mouth.

"Who wouldn't be?"

Marcus, easing off the couch, wondered if that was a flirt or not. He got his torch kit from the bedroom closet and set it down to push the coffee table out of the way.

With this space cleared, Marcus sat, cross legged, and inverted one wand so the head was evenly dipped into the fuel. Using his free hand, he flicked his lighter. He cast the wic quickly through the flame and it caught and spread over the kevlar like a burning dandelion tuft. Marcus held the wand away and gave Ben a wink before tipping his head back and inserting the fire directly into his mouth.

It extinguished and he pulled the rod out, showed Ben it was snuffed completely. He flicked his light again, began the process over. He switched the lighter for his second torch, lit one off the other.

"Now, it ain't ideal to do this in the living room, so I won't get too crazy…"

Marcus worked through some standard techniques: a straight snuff, a double extinguish, a grenade swallow.

Ben was a good audience to have, clapping politely every time the fire went out.

"Little more daring and maybe a lot more stupid…"

Marcus leaned his head back toward the ceiling, brought the blazing torch to his lips, and gave the slightest puff. It cast fire above him, caught and propelled by the fumes lingering in his mouth.

Ben went nuts for this one, busting open with jolly laughter.

Marcus grinned and swallowed down the flames. "Everythin' you hoped for?" he asked.

"Oh, absolutely. Hell yeah." Ben smiled harder, his eyes scrunched up like orange slices. "You always been a born performer?"

Marcus began packing his wands away, chuckling a bit bashfully. "Was the barker before you came along, actually. Known for my voice, ironically. Most my acts are silent, 'cept for when I do announcing."

Ben cocked a single eyebrow. An attempt at something akin to seductive, but his goofy smile and general intoxication dampered the charm endearingly. "Really? Known for your voice, huh?"

"Got a scholarship on it." Subtle brag. Marcus wasn't in radio anymore, but he was still proud of what work he'd done in the past. He stood and arranged the coffee table so it was set straight, then joined Ben on the couch.

"Sounds like you've got a talented mouth—throat—goodness, you get what I mean."

Marcus giggled, a warm rush going through him. "Why, Benjamin, are you coming onto me?"

"Was hoping you'd notice before Big Herb spilled the beans."

Marcus breathed another laugh. His eyes focused hard on Ben's mouth in the dark. "Wouldn't wanna kiss me," he said softly, amused. "I taste like a grill right now."

"I think you're drastically underestimating how much I want to kiss you, Marcus."

Another thrill dashed through Marcus and with that, he craned up and kissed Ben on the corner of the mouth. Silly and innocent. He tried again and hit the mark, kissed Ben properly.

And yes, of course, it felt like magic.

**Author's Note:**

> hail yourself
> 
> oh, my grandfather was a barker, my mother had her childhood cat stolen by a cult who killed it for sacrifice, and my dad shucked corn at carnivals in his youth 
> 
> i got into the history of fire eating this summer so this fic was inevitable


End file.
